New Beginnings
by Badge of Honour
Summary: Part of Fire is Catching's Secret Santa challenge! For Sara. I hope you like it!


Hazelle sighed as she collected another two empty bottles, the glass clinking as she walked back downstairs. She had thought that maybe Haymitch had turned a corner after his time in District 13; where his alcohol access was considerably restricted, but she would not be surprised in the slightest if he had found a way to sneak some into his bloodstream.

Ms Hawthorne had been hired again to take care of the former victor's domestic matters, mostly consisting of scrubbing the spilt ale and sprayed vomit from wherever it would end up today. It was infuriating, but if that was what it took to feed, clothe and shelter her children, then there were worse jobs she could do.

Standing in the kitchen, trying to find somewhere to put the glass, Hazelle pursed her lips in exacerbation. Dirty dishes were stacked up all along the sideboard, smashed bottles of liquor leaving sticky puddles on the floor, overfilled rubbish stuck to the floor. All in _one_ day. She didn't want to know how this had happened, and, part seething and part curious, proceeded to begin by picking up the old garbage, then sweeping and mopping the floor. An hour and a half or so later, Hazelle estimated, the kitchen had been thoroughly de-Haymitched. She allowed herself a small smile of relief, turning to the living room and letting her happiness die on her lips. This man was going to be the death of her.

By lunchtime, the entire downstairs section of the house had been entirely decontaminated and she allowed herself a short break, guessing that she wouldn't have to worry about Haymitch rising for another couple of hours, at least. Having poured herself a black coffee, she crossed her legs, perched on one of the armchairs in Haymitch's living room. Although he was her employer, she had barely seen him in her three weeks of work. Katniss, the poor dear, or her fiancé, would check every couple of days to see if Haymitch had drunk himself to death. Importantly, this gave Hazelle the chance to gauge their status, too. Even though they were both fully grown adults, Hazelle felt a certain responsibility to Katniss, especially following the girl's further detachment from her mother over the past few months. Times had been tough, for most in District 12. Shaking her head, Hazelle returned to work.

* * *

Hazelle unlocked the front door and crept in quietly, raising her eyebrows in bemusement as she noticed the state of the kitchen. Completely immaculate – not a single glass left on the side, crumb on the surface or glass shard on the floor. Haymitch must not have been down. Hazelle bit her lip, and fixed some sandwiches and a glass of water. Her conscience weighed her down as she chided herself for not checking on him yesterday. In this climate… this job was all she had, and Haymitch…

She flung the bedroom door open and rushed to check on the former victor, trying her best to forget the rancid smell of his bedroom. Hazelle was calmed as she heard his regular, somewhat heavy breathing, and although he would probably resent her for it, she decided to wake him. Better to make sure he's okay for Katniss' next visit. She shook Haymitch's shoulder, and nothing came of it. Hazelle cleared her throat, raised her voice and did everything she could before her palm collided with his cheek, an audible crack in the air.

That was… more than Hazelle had hoped for.

Haymitch's grey eyes were wild and bloodshot, Hazelle noticed as he rolled himself on his feet, one hand slipping under a pillow and emerging with a long knife, panting and scanning the room frantically as he slashed at the air.

"I – I'm sorry," Hazelle said, ashamed of the panic in her voice, backing away slowly. Her heart thumped in her chest. It felt like it was about to burst. "It's quite alright, I was just making sure you were-"

"Awake? Alive?" Haymitch sneered. "Well luckily for you, sweetheart, I'm not as quick as I used to be."

_Indeed_, the housekeeper nodded, and gulped. She could see dried vomit in the greying stubble dotting his chin, and dreaded to think of the state of the bed sheets as she suppressed her disgust before it showed on her face.

"I'll run you a bath," she excused herself quickly, dashing to the bathroom and filling it with water and some glossy bottle she didn't recognise, turning the water foamy_. You shouldn't have done that. He is your **boss.** **  
**_

* * *

"We need to talk," Haymitch told her later, causing a lump to form in the back of Hazelle's throat. She could have slapped herself for putting herself out of a job when she should have known better, but smoothed her skirts and walked into the lounge when directed by the former victor with as much dignity as she could muster._  
_

"I'm sorry," Hazelle said rapidly, all former illusions of restraint vanishing. "I never meant to scare you. I crossed the line, and I completely understand if you'll be looking for new help. I just wanted you to know I'm sorry." Ms Hawthorne stood, but was stopped short.

Haymitch's freshly cleaned and remarkably different face curled into an at once familiar snarl, and he suppressed a laugh. "New help. That's cute."

Hazelle was puzzled, and it must have shown on her face. "Truth is, sweetheart," he began, "I was gonna offer you a raise."

"What?!" she blurted before she could stop herself, and raised a hand to cover her mouth, trying to halt whatever else could slip out.

Haymitch nodded. "You were concerned about my wellbeing. Now, I know I can be a dirty old man when I drink, and I may seem out of it most the time, but I know that that's usually seen as a good quality. 'Specially in an employee," he nodded at her, before standing himself and walking into the kitchen.

He returned shortly with two glasses, handing one to Hazelle. Inside was a clear, sparkling drink with ice floating on the top, and she could definitely smell the vodka.

"Loosen up, have a drink on me," he said with a smile, Haymitch's grey eyes glimmering in the light with a vitality she had never noticed before.

"Hmm, just one," Hazelle agreed, sipping her drink carefully.

* * *

Of course, one quickly became five, and as the night wore on the two learned more and more about each other's very different lives, Haymitch showing an interest in Hazelle's kids, her life before the rebellion and her husband. Hazelle noticed that his questions were very blunt, direct to the point, but her walls slowly crumbled and more and more information was revealed about the housewife. Somewhere along the line, the pair had agreed that the most effective way for this to work would be to each ask a question in turns, and then answer.

"So, how's Gale coping? Smart kid, I'd have thought he'd have known better than to get involved with Katniss."

"No, it's _my_ turn," Hazelle protested, her voice audibly slurred.

"Just answer the question."

Hazelle giggled to herself, emptied the vodka bottle into her glass and topped up with some soda, looking up at her boss with the utmost sobriety, she reckoned, trying to read his face in futility. Haymitch was damned good at reining himself in, she had noticed. "I suppose we're all romantics, deep down. At least, till it gets stomped out of us."

Haymitch grunted, and Ms Hawthorne took that as his agreement, gulping her drink to fill the silence.

"My turn!" she said not quietly, raising a hand before he interrupted again. "You had a few months of almost no access to drink, why ruin that now?" Hazelle had never been this bold or direct in her questions, mostly leaving what she found out in Haymitch's hands, but, well. She felt like this was important, and she had been given some encouragement by the devilish drink in her hands.

"A lot of good people died." Haymitch said sombrely, opening another bottle and drinking it neat. "I guess you can say I'm having a drink on them."

Hazelle nodded, but internally processed what had been said. He was lying, and she thought it was his coping mechanism for the random bad things that happened in the world. Although never resorting to drink herself, she understood the sentiment. Her washing business had offered a distraction from John's death, allowed her to push back reality. If she had no career, nothing to spend her time doing, and had Haymitch's kind of wealth, what would she have done any differently?

"Amen," Hazelle smiled sadly, finishing her drink and standing to leave, checking her watch. She was an hour late for the kids.

"So I'll see you tomorrow?" Haymitch asked softly, even walking his cleaner to the front door of his house, forgetting the vodka bottle. Hazelle noticed that in all the time she had worked for him, never had the former victor sounded more hopeful. She nodded and took her leave, a wide smile spread across her face as she walked through the Victor's Village. Things were looking up.

* * *

**A/N Merry Christmas, Sara! This is my first ever time writing this pairing so I apologise if it sucks, but I really wanted to write something you'd like. Hopefully you enjoy it!**


End file.
